The journey to Persia had been an eventful one. Nearly half way to the middle palace in Mazenderan, Nadir Khan had fallen deathly ill. The small caravan stopped for three days, with great concern for the health of the caravan leader.
Something Nadir had neglected to tell Erik when they met was his status in the court of Mazenderan. Nadir was the Daroga, the police chief and something of a prince by birth. This meant that his illness struck deep within the caravan, everyone but their cargo seeming deeply concerned about the rapidly declining health of the normally fit and strong man. No effort was spared to try and heal the man, but nobody knew exactly what it was the Daroga was ill with.
Members of the caravan began to suspect The Magician with the face of death was responsible. There were too many obscurities about the man; he was too quiet, too private to be up to any good. He somehow knew their language, though everyone was sure he had never been to Persia before; such an obscure man would undoubtedly be remembered, they knew. The only thing that made the men of the caravan doubt Erik's guilt was his obvious annoyance at being stopped for so long.
The masked man dressed all in black became agitated after the first day, not content to sit still in a make-shift camp in the desert. "What exactly is wrong with him?" He demanded of one of the men in the caravan, pacing like a wildcat on the prowl.
"We're not sure. There isn't a physician to say-"
"You organized a caravan to and from Russia without hiring a physician?" Erik's eyes rolled visibly under the black leather mask. "Let me see him," he demanded, but the man hesitated. Erik glared and spoke more firmly. "Well, let me see him!" He had left an extremely lucrative position to travel to Persia, he wasn't about to go half way and be forced to turn back because of a pointless death.
The man seemed to have no control over himself as he led Erik into the tent which housed the Daroga. Erik could immediately see the man was ill with fever, brown face drenched in sweat as the man tossed and turned uncomfortably. The foolish man had probably drank contaminated water; God knew there was plenty of it in this part of the world.
Erik pulled up a chair by the side of the bed, and waved his hand to dismiss the man who had let him in. The man left them alone, and Erik began to work. He removed his gloves and confirmed a fever with the back of his hand, and slapped the Persian's cheek to try and rouse him with no success. He couldn't confirm water had made him ill without speaking to the man, but it was the most likely cause; everyone in the caravan had eaten the same foods, but not everyone was drinking from the same water. Erik always gathered and boiled his himself, wary of strangers after years of experience. A prince he knew would not have nearly as much knowledge of the land as he or the nomadic members of a caravan would. Yes, it was certainly water poisoning.
Moving outside the tent, Erik began to boil water and moved to his own tent to grind down herbs with a mortar and pestle. Adding some of the boiling water to the mixture of herbs, he returned to the tent much to the curiosity of the caravan. Returning with an empty mortar, the entire caravan flocked to the tent to confirm the Daroga was still alive.
The very next morning, the caravan was back on the road with the Daroga in the lead. Signaling for another man to take over the lead, Nadir fell back to ride alongside Erik, who as usual was lingering at the rear of the caravan riding bareback and without reins but still appearing plenty regal.
"How do they know where you want to go?" The Daroga asked curiously.
"They've learned to read my signals like I've learned to read theirs. I know when they need to eat and drink, they know where I want to go," he simply shrugged, turning the page of a leather-bound book he had been reading without so much as looking over at Nadir.
"What is it you're reading?"
"What do you want, Daroga?" The Persian frowned some. Someone had told Erik about his status… he had been afraid of that. Erik seemed a man who would take being escorted by a police chief the same as being taken prisoner.
"I just wanted to say thank you. I don't know what it is you made me, but the men say it saved my life."
Erik closed his book and tucked it away into one of the packs draped across the flank of his horse. "It did. Boil your water from now on, it will prevent a reoccurrence. You never mentioned you were a prince."
Nadir shrugged, "I didn't think it was of any importance."
The Magician considered this and nodded. "True. Princes in Persia are as common as fleas on camels I hear…" Nadir gave the man an offended look, which was only met with amusion.
In spite of quickening the pace, the caravan arrived in Mazenderan three full days later than anticipated. Nadir left the horses and packs with the men of the caravan, hurrying Erik inside the palace. Erik was awestruck. No matter how dark his mind or how black his moods, there was a place in his heart that was always moved by beauty. The Palace was stunning. Walls of granite and marble, accented with valuable stones and gems. The most elaborate carpets lined the floors and even more stunning tapestries ornamented the walls. Windows were large and draped with silks, doors were made of the most stunning, sturdy woods Erik had ever seen with handles of gold and diamond.
A stunning, exotic looking feline darted across Erik's path into a crack in a door to Erik's left, and Erik slipped inside. The room was luscious, lined with fabrics and pillows for lounging. There was a large chair at the center of the room, lined with stunning rubies. Erik moved to sit in the throne, eyes closed languidly. He could certainly get used to this… effortlessly he took a shard of red glass from his pocket, prying up one of the rubies in the wood and replacing it with the glad mimicry. He had used his false rubies many times before, but he would certainly prefer to begin collecting real ones.
The lithe feline wound its way between Erik's legs, purring loudly. Erik reached down and picked up the cat, placing her onto his lap to stroke her chin. As he did so, he unhooked the cat's collar in the same manner he had used to steal so many bracelets and watches in the past. The feline didn't seem to mind, reveling in the affection lavished upon her by Erik. Suddenly the door creaked open, and a lithe young woman tip-toed in.
"Shiva, here kitty kitty…" The girl's dark brown, almost black hair was plaited with a strip of pale blue fabric matching the sheer, flowing fabric she was dressed in. Her belly was covered as much as she could manage given the top of her outfit was cut just below her breasts. Clearly she was more modest in nature than whatever her position allowed. The young woman froze when she saw the man in the thrown. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think anybody was in here," she bowed in deference. "Thank God you found her! The Sultana would be so upset…"
Erik stood and brought the feline to the girl, hand brushing against hers ever so slightly. "We wouldn't want to upset the Sultana now, would we? You're not Persian are you?" Erik phrased his statement was a question, though there was clearly no doubt in his voice that he was correct.
"I… No, Sir. How did you..?" The girl stammered, eyes diverted self consciously as she pulled her shirt down as much as she could.
"I'm familiar with The People," he explained in flawless Hebrew, nearly laughing as the girl's eyes widened at the sound of her native tongue so far from home. Before she could speak Nadir walked in with great relief etched on his face
"Erik! Here you are! Please don't keep the Sultana waiting, not on your first day," the Daroga ushered The Magician out of the room, walking behind him to be sure he didn't lose him again. The girl stood wide-eyed at the events that had just occurred, so mundane yet so significant in her small, sad world. She was a stranger in a strange land, and she was no longer the only one.